


Pie and Custard

by hobbitsaresexy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:34:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsaresexy/pseuds/hobbitsaresexy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're trying to make apple pie, but Merry and Pippin complicate things. After sending them to fetch you eggs (and get out of your hair), things take a turn for the sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pie and Custard

It’s a gorgeous, brisk fall day- one of those days with a bright, clear blue sky, a nip in the air, a frisky wind, and a landscape of changing leaves. You return to Brandy Hall with a bundle of apples in your apron. Merry and Pippin run past you, knocking you over and spilling your apples all over the floor. “Hey!” you yell indignantly. “Sorry, Y/N,” Merry says, grinning sheepishly. “Help me pick them up, at least,” you grumble, bending over like a crotchety old woman to gather them up. You place them in a basket on the counter and glare at him. “What are you making?” he asks. “Apple pie, but none for you. Rude,” you tell him. “Aw, c’mon. How can we make it up to you?” he asks. You sigh. “You can go and ask Farmer Maggot for a dozen eggs.” 

“But you know Farmer Maggot hates us,” Merry protests. You shrug. “No pie for you, then.” 

“Fine, c’mon Pip,” he grumbles, and they trudge out the door. You smile to yourself and cut butter into the dough, then set to work kneading your pie crust. You slice up the apples and stir them together with butter and sugar, then roll out the crust. You lay it out in your pie pan and cut out small leaf designs from what’s left over. You pour the filling in, cover it with the top of the crust, arrange the leaves around the edge, and pop it in the oven. Merry bursts in, holding several eggs covered in hay. “Where’s Pippin?” you ask. “He, er, got held up,” Merry replies, averting his eyes. You narrow your gaze. 

“Farmer Maggot usually puts his eggs in a carton...you didn’t ask him at all, did you? You just took them from out of the nest.” 

“Yes, but now you have the eggs, so…” he replies, trailing off. 

You notice a large gash on his hand. You take the eggs from him and place them aside, then wipe your hands on your apron and take his hand. He winces as you examine the cut. 

“Did you get pecked?” you ask, your tone gentler. 

“Yes, just a little, though,” he replies, trying to take his hand back. 

“Let me at least wrap it in some cloth,” you urge him. 

You turn to the cupboard and pull out a roll of cloth. You wrap it around his hand, taking care not to hurt him more, and tie it off. 

“There,” you say, and turn back to your baking. You crack some eggs into a pot, then whisk them together with cream, sugar, and vanilla. 

“Are you making custard?” Merry asks hopefully. 

You giggle. “Yes, of course. There’s no point in apple pie without custard.” 

“I completely agree. I knew I liked you for a reason.” 

“Mm, so that’s why you come running through my kitchen tracking mud and spilling my apples? And here I thought you were just trying to make my life more difficult.”

“Excuse me, I got hen-pecked- quite literally- for you.”

“That’s true. Thank you for that. By the way, what happened to Pippin?” you ask him again.

“He, er...found some mushrooms and decided to just keep snooping around Farmer Maggot’s farm. I expect he’s getting whacked around the ears right now,” Merry replies. 

“Oh, that Pippin,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

“Yes...that Pippin indeed,” Merry says quietly. 

“Here,” you say, and you toss him a small chunk of leftover pie crust, “for your efforts.” He grins and eats it happily. 

You chat for a while as you stir the custard on the stove, waiting for it to thicken. 

You pour the custard out into a bowl and gasp as a splash of it lands on your arm. 

“Ow!” you complain. “What happened?” Merry asks. 

“I got splashed by hot custard,” you complain, looking pouty. 

“Aw, where? I can rub some salve on it,” he offers. 

“On my arm,” you say. 

He takes your arm tenderly and looks at the spot. It’s already looking red and angry. He goes to the medicine cabinet and retrieves some healing salve. He takes a small smear and rubs it into your burn. 

“There. Better?” he asks. You nod. 

He doesn’t let go of your arm right away, and you look into his eyes. You can’t deny the sparks between you. You want him to pull you closer, to feel his arms around you, to kiss him...he reaches around you and sticks his finger in the still-setting custard to taste it. 

“Hey! You got your dirty hands in it,” you complain, swatting at him. 

He laughs and jumps back, trying to avoid your swatting. He bangs into the wall and falls to the floor, then pulls you down with him. 

“Hey! Let me up, you jerk,” you complain as he pins you down, both hands on your wrists as he straddles you. It’s quite the compromising position. 

“I don’t think so,” he says. He leans over you and kisses you. You kiss him back. It’s a long, slow, sweet, warm kiss, with lots of tongue. You roll over so you’re wrapped around each other on the floor, and as the kissing wears on you start to feel his arousal pressing against you. 

His hands roam over your body, squeezing your ass, holding your waist...he slips your sleeves down, exposing your corset, and you unbutton his shirt. He pauses for a moment and just...stares at you. 

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms over yourself. 

“No,” he says, pulling your arms back, “you’re just...so beautiful.” You blush. 

“Hold on a second,” you tell him, and you get up to pull the finished pie out of the oven and place it on the windowsill. 

“Okay,” you say, and he kisses you again. 

You reach down to rub the front of his trousers and he groans happily. 

“Wait- are you sure?” he asks, “I mean...we’re supposed to wait for marriage.” 

You look at him, a wicked glint in your eye, and start to undo his trousers. 

He grins. “Right, then.” 

He scoops you up and carries you newlywed-style into his bedroom at the end of the long hallway. He sets you down on the bed and kisses you with one long, tender, kiss. 

“Y/N...I love you,” he says. “I’ve loved you for some time.” 

“I love you, too. Ever since you first came back from Farmer Maggot’s last year with your arms full of carrots for my stew,” you say. 

He pulls off your dress and unlaces your corset with deft fingers. You pull off your dress and undergarments, exposing yourself completely.. He undoes his trousers. 

“You’re sure?” he asks gently, looking into your eyes. 

You bite your lip, smile, and nod. He kisses you again, then slides into you slowly, carefully. It hurts a little bit, but he’s slow and sweet, and before long you feel a tight coil building in your lower belly. You moan and say, “Merry, oh, oh!” in a breathy voice. He speeds up the pace, and you feel the coil tightening, close to bursting. 

“Merry- oh, I’m so close,” you tell him. He slows down to kiss you once more, then rubs at you with one hand while resuming his pumping. 

The coil explodes and stars dance in your vision. He spills his seed inside you and rolls over, pulling you with him. You nestle into his arms and he kisses the top of your hair. You drift to sleep with his arms around you.

You awake two hours later, feeling famished. “Hey,” you say, poking him awake, “Wanna go eat that pie and custard?” That wakes him right up, and the two of you pull your clothes back on haphazardly and return to the kitchen. 

Pippin is sitting on the floor eating his fourth slice of pie. “Oh hullo,” he says, looking smug. Nearly half the pie is gone. “Peregrin Took, that pie was supposed to last until tomorrow!” you chide him. “Aye, well, you can just consider it my payment for all the pain I endured at Farmer Maggot’s,” he replies. “That’s your own fault. Merry told me you insisted on snooping around to steal more crops,” you complain. “Fine. Then it’s my payment for my silence, because your dress is falling off and Merry’s shirt isn’t even buttoned,” he says, raising his eyebrows. You blush furiously and Merry hastily buttons his shirt back up. “Right...just...alright, fine,” you say, slicing yourself a piece of pie and scooping custard on top. Merry gets himself a piece and sits next to you on the floor, taking your hand in his.

It was definitely worth it to make the custard.


End file.
